


Amnesia

by MrsRen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Smut, amnesia prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 06:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14868207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: Written for the Facebook group Dramione Fanfiction Writers' Troping Thursday segment. Prompt: Amnesia.Following a nasty fall from his broom during a quidditch match, Draco Malfoy doesn't remember much. Except that he's fairly certain Hermione Granger is his girlfriend. After being told, by her no less, that she is not, there's only one option.





	Amnesia

As fellow Heads, she imagined she ought to go and see Malfoy in the hospital wing. Following his plummet from his broom during the Gryffindor vs Slytherin quidditch match, he hadn’t returned to the Head dorm. Nor had he spoken to his friend. If Pansy Parkinson asked, “Where’s Drakey?”  _ one more sodding time,  _ she was going to tear her own hair out. 

 

She was sure she would have made her way to the cot he was resting in sooner, had her two best friends not been nursing their spent pride. The Slytherin Seeker had nearly died and Slytherin still won. What a travesty, they said. An outrage, they needed a rematch because that win should have been theirs and not because Draco Malfoy deserved a fair shot at winning.

 

What a pair of utter prats the two of them were. Even after the Wizarding War and even after letting the past stay in the past, they were still prejudiced against Slytherins. Ron moreso than Harry, but she’d already lumped than together. 

 

The corridors were drafty, they were in mid November, as her robes swept against the stone below her. Madame Pomfrey had requested for the Head Girl to bring Malfoy some of his homework, and detailed notes. He was apparently growing bored while he was restricted to bed rest. 

 

Poor Malfoy, she mused. He must be so miserable as he laid in a cot all day being doted on. Pushing the heavy door open, Hermione smoothed her hair down, telling herself that she was  _ not  _ making herself look nicer for him. 

 

A lie, of course. Though she’d never admit the fact that the blond Slytherin had somehow wormed his way into her affections even though he was one of the biggest pricks she’d ever met. He kept things interesting. Since the beginning of the term he was as civil as he could possibly be, which mostly meant that he didn’t call her Mudblood anymore, but he did call her a know it all, and on one occasion he called her a sarcastic bint. 

 

“Miss Granger!” Madame Pomfrey called. “It’s so nice to see you, dear. I have to run to the Headmistress’s office for a moment. Would you please watch over Mister Malfoy. The last night he needs to do is wander around the castle.” 

 

Hermione hesitated before nodding. As if she was going to be the one to question the staff. “Of course, I’ll be here whenever you return. Where is he? I have his homework.” She raised the bag in her right hand. 

 

“At the end of the room, dear. On the right side and behind that curtain. Don’t be too surprised.” Madame Pomfrey bustled out of the room, her skirt rustling as she went. The door slammed behind her and Hermione flinched. 

 

“Malfoy?” Hermione called out, taking slow steps until she reached the last bed, pulling the curtain back some. To her disappointment, not even a stay in the infirmary, or a fall from his broom made him look any less attractive. 

 

He sat with his back propped up against two pillows, and his hair wasn’t slicked back. Her heart  _ might have  _ seized at the sight. His hair was shaggier than she’d ever seen. Gray eyes widened as they settled on her, slowly taking her up and down. Her shoulders tensed as she looked anywhere but him. “Can I help you?” His voice was hoarse, husky sounding as it slid right off his tongue and she wanted to throw the books at him before spinning on her heel to make a quick getaway. 

 

“Oh,” she muttered.  _ Way to make a fool of yourself. He’s not that attractive.  _ “Madame Pomfrey requested for your homework. I was just bringing it to you.” 

 

He nodded. “Right. Forgive me, I can’t quite place who you are. Might you be my girlfriend?” Her eyes shot open and she really did drop the books, the spine of their Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook landing on his toe. He hissed in pain. “I know it must be a shock for me to have forgotten my own girlfriend, but we can-”

 

“I’m not your girlfriend, Malfoy.” Hermione squeaked, lacing her fingers behind her back. “I’m just Head Girl, and you’re Head Boy. I was just being a nice person.” 

 

“Oh,” Might he have looked more than a little disappointed in that news? “We have met thought?” Malfoy asked her then, tilting his head to the side and white blond hair falling across his face. 

 

“Er, yeah. Exactly how much do you remember?” 

 

“I remember,  _ that’s who you are! _ You were at the Manor with, with,” 

 

Hermione paled. “Yes, I was. I’m sorry, I really must be going.” She rushed out, praying to Merlin that Madame Pomfrey would come through that door immediately. “I’m sorry, I just don’t like to talk about it.” 

 

“You’re too pale. You should sit down before you faint. Could you tell me your name?” It sounded nothing like him, and she grasped for reasons for why he might be so pleasant to her. 

 

And it hit her in the face. “Malfoy, do you remember that I’m a Muggleborn? That you used to call me a Mudblood?” Even as she said the word, she flinched. “It’s been different since the beginning of term, but if my being tortured is the last thing you remember.” 

 

“One of the last things I remember is also that Lord Voldemort was wrong.” He challenged and for an awful moment, the edges of her vision was blurry. 

 

The hospital wing door was pushed open, revealing Madame Pomfrey with Headmistress McGonagall right behind her. Hermione sighed in relief. “Well, that’s that. It was...strange seeing you, Malfoy.” She blurted and left three open mouthed individuals in her wake. 

* * *

  
  
  


Over the two weeks that had passed since Hermione sprinted out of the infirmary, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell anyone what Malfoy had said to her. He’d asked her if she was his girlfriend, hadn’t he? And that must mean he saw her as someone who could possibly be his girlfriend. 

 

She hated this, the confusion, the way her heart was rattling inside her rib cage as if it were broken, and she especially loathed the way he looked her over like he was undressing her each time they saw one another. DADA was the worst. Between his not so subtle glances, Harry’s trust issues and Ron’s ridiculous jealousy, she wasn’t so sure she was going to make it out of their last year. 

 

It hadn’t worked with Ron, and she didn’t regret it. It had been a hard time after so many of their friends, family members, and classmates being killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. It was natural to seek comfort in another, but it was the worst match she’d ever seen. He was her closest friend, and she loved him, platonically. 

 

Merlin and Morgana help him though if he told Malfoy to leave her alone one more time. 

 

The real shock came after a night of patrols. Malfoy was still reeling from the shock that was inserting himself back into his life, full of faces he recognized, but half a year’s worth of memories he couldn’t place. 

 

It was as they made their way back to the Head Dorm, conveniently located in a central location for any students that might have problems. Hermione yawned, pulling her robe off as they entered the portrait, muttering, “Crookshanks,” since it had been her month to pick the password. 

 

“Do you know why Pansy won’t leave me alone?” He asked calmly. So calmly that she was sure it was a joke and snorted. “I really have no idea why she’s asking me if I’ve planned something for Hogsmeade this weekend everyday.” 

 

“Oh,” she sobered up, laying her robe across the back of the sofa. She loosened her Gryffindor tie, laying it over the black fabric. “To be candid, I imagine it has something to do with the fact that she believes she’s your girlfriend.” 

 

His eyes widened. It was the closest she’d come to bringing up how he’d believed Hermione Granger to be his girlfriend, and she hoped he wouldn’t bring that up again. With her cheeks already flaming, she doubted she’d survive the embarrassment a second time. “Parkinson?” His eyebrows knitted together. “Why would she think that?” 

 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’d hazard a guess that it has something to do with you fucking, er, shagging,” she cringed. Clearly she had been around Ron and Harry too much since someone had gotten their hands on American  _ Playboy  _ magazines in the Gryffindor dorm. “Her into your mattress all the time.” 

 

“Is it just me, or do you sound bitter about that?” Draco was smirking, and he stepped towards her, his chest brushing against hers. He leaned down. “Why would that be?” 

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She growled. “Why would I be bitter about you and Pug Faced Parkinson?” 

 

He howled with laughter. It helped him catch her off guard when his arm snaked around her waist and Malfoy pulled her flush against him. “I don’t know, Hermione.” Her name shouldn’t have sounded that good rolling off of his tongue, but it did. And she wanted to hear it again. “Might you be bitter because you haven’t had a good,” he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “ _ Fucking? _ ” The Americanism sent shivers down her spine. Or was it how his fingertips ghosted against her spine? “Or might it be because you’ve had your eye on me just like I have you?” 

 

“That’s ridiculous.” She managed, but it didn’t sound the least bit convincing. 

 

“Can I ask you a question?” It was a fake formality because he continued on, his voice dangerously low as his lips were breaths away from hers. “Have you ever been fucked into the mattress? As I’ve gathered, you dated Weasley briefly after the war. Did he show you how good it could feel?” 

 

“I’m perfectly aware of how good sex can feel!” She snapped, horrified at the turn of events. How on earth had this changed so quickly. She had a silly crush on him and nothing more!

 

“Reading about it isn’t the same as experiencing it yourself.” He told her softly. “Do you think I don’t know what books you’re hiding with a glamour? I’m just as intelligent as you are, Hermione.” 

 

She swallowed. “So, maybe I haven’t experienced whatever it is that,” 

 

Hermione squealed as she was cut off by his hands digging into his hair, rougher than Ron ever had and he stopped her voice by kissing her. Slowly at first, but it was like the tension was slowly releasing the harder he kissed her. Hermione’s hands came to his shoulders, her fingernails biting into his shoulders. 

 

“Malfoy.” She gasped. 

 

“It’s Draco.” He corrected her, his palm flattening against her spine and sliding down to cup her arse. “And I’m fucking tired of not having you when you’re in my thoughts every second.” 

 

She whimpered as he squeezed her arse, walking her backwards. “I don’t have the slightest idea,” 

 

“You do.” Draco insisted, cupping her arse with both hands and picking her up. “And I will put you down if you tell me you don’t want this. For the love of Salazar, let me show you how it feels to get fucked.” He bent down and bit her neck, her head falling back as moans tumbled from her lips. “Hermione.” He groaned. 

 

“Please.” Digging her fingers into his hair and scratching his scalp, she bit his bottom lip, running her tongue along the seam before kissing him again. All while he carried her towards his bedroom. His password was a simple, snitch, and the door swung open. 

 

She half expected for him to throw her onto his bed, to roughly have his way with her. Yet, he set her down at the foot of the bed, kneeling in front of her and slipping her shoes off. “Leave the stockings.” 

 

She nodded, her mouth dry. 

 

He didn’t bother with flicking each button of her shirt open, instead ripping it open. Buttons flew across the room, a small  _ ting  _ sounding in the air. “I’ll give you one of mine to wear.” He murmured into the skin of the inside of her thigh. Her skirt was soon to follow and he vanished her knickers and bra. “Fuck.” His voice was guttural, sending shivers down her spine and she attempted to shut her legs. “Oh, no.” 

 

Draco spread her legs once more, pushing her back to lay on the bed. Her cheeks were hot as she squeezed her eyes shut. All of her shyness went away as his tongue slid against her folds the first time, the tip of his tongue teasing her sensitive clit. 

 

The moan that tore free of her didn’t even sound like her. It didn’t take much, his finger sliding into her wet cunt and curling against her walls, to make her rock against him. Her moans and whimpers, and Merlin help her,  _ screams _ , were loud. It had never been like this. The way he ate her pussy made her toes curl while her legs rested over his shoulders. 

 

“I can’t, I can’t handle it.” Hermione whispered breathlessly. 

 

“You can.” Draco told her, tongue lapping against her clit before he sucked on it slightly. “You’ll take it until you orgamsm.” 

 

One, two, three more strokes of his tongue and she fucking felt like she had  _ shattered _ . She was writhing on the bed, sweat trickling between her breasts and across her stomach. “Fuck.” She collapsed against the bed. “Oh, my God.” 

 

Draco climbed onto the bed. “I hope you don’t think you’re done.” 

 

She shook her head, adjusting to sit on her knees while her legs were still shaking. “No. I believe you still wanted to show me what it was like to be really fucked.” 

 

“It would be rough.” 

 

“Good.” She hissed. 

 

Her bravery found her spun around with her back to his bare torso and his forearm against her throat. “Perfect.” His arm fell away from her throat and Hermione bent over in front of him on the bed, her hands flat against the dark green sheets. “You have such a pretty cunt.” His fingers brushed against her folds one last time before positioning the head of his cock at her entrance. 

 

He didn’t slam into her, but he slid straight into her without pausing, and groaned her name. “Draco.” She moaned, collapsing and laying her head on her crossed arms. 

 

“You feel so good.” Her pussy was snug around him, clenching him as he thrust into her. “I hate to admit it, but I won’t,” 

 

“I don’t care!” She argued and pushed herself back against him. “Just, harder.” His hands came down on her hips, and it was as she feel completely to the mattress, her knees not longer even holding her up that she understood why Parkinson was so adamant that she got to keep her claws dug into him. 

 

He pulled out of her, seed spilling across her back and he rolled her over. His lips were soft against hers. Hermione’s eyes drifted shut sleepily. “I think the best thing that’s ever happened to you is you losing your memory.” 

 

He snorted. “My memory came back a week ago, Granger. I just happened to see something I hadn’t seen before.” 

 

“You what?” Her heart slammed into her ribs, but for a completely different reason this time. The implications of that were..

 

“And as you probably know, what  a Malfoy wants, a Malfoy gets. Are you free for Hogsmeade this weekend?” 

 

She spluttered


End file.
